


The Inbetween Points

by dearxalchemist



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, One Shot Collection, Romance, answered prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-08-29 22:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8508130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/pseuds/dearxalchemist
Summary: “You should not be up.” He whispers quietly turning his head over from the little book and glancing over her form. She’s wearing little to keep herself warm, a thin night gown and a pair of his socks too big for her scrawny legs. A series of answered "one word" prompts of the different points in  Gaby and Illya's relationship.





	1. "Mine"

****

Mine: that which belongs to me —used without a following noun as a pronoun equivalent in meaning to the adjective my.

They’re in Madrid when Gaby wraps her arm around Illya’s neck and pulls him down. The fake ring on her finger is gone. He’s pressing a real one onto her finger now. His hand is caught in hers, fingers tangled and wrists touching. There’s a pink flush over his pale cheeks and he would smile, but her lips are keeping his busy. She kisses him until his lungs burn and her free hand drifts up from the back of his neck and threads through his golden hair. She twists her fingers into his hair as his hand wraps around the small of her back. He pushes her in closer, so her hips graze his own and for a moment the world melts away.

The sun beats down overhead and her sunglasses slip up the bridge of her nose and bumps his own. Slowly she breaks away, planting smaller kisses along his bottom lip all the way down the edge of his chin as she descends away from him. The air around her vibrates with excitement. Her enthusiasm is practically tangible and it makes his lips twist up into something that resembles a confident smile. His smile is only threatened when she presses closer and he curses low. Illya’s fingers tighten against the small of her back and crinkle her dress.

“You like it, yes?” Illya’s voice is low making his accent sound harsher than it usually is. It washes over her when his lips find her forehead. He presses a chaste kiss to the spot and listens as she sighs and shivers when she presses an open-mouth kiss over the fluttering pulse point on his throat.

“Illya,” She hums softly against his neck. His skin prickles with excitement as she smiles into his pale skin. Her tongue swipes at the taste of salt on his neck before stepping back from him. She admires the red mark on his skin like a trophy she’s worked hard to win. He swallows under her predatory gaze and then watches as she smiles. His heart skips a beat and hits hard in her ribcage as he watches her. Gaby wiggles her fingers for a moment, stopping to twist the piece of jewelry back and forth. He already likes the habit she seems to have picked up, playing constantly with the ring. It’s been a whole two-minutes and Gaby has yet to stop the fidgeting, “It’s nothing like behind the wall.”

Her voice breaks off and her gaze lands on the ring. She slowly stops her playing, her cat-like smile fades and she holds her hands together. He watches her knuckles turn white and her forearms shake from the pressure as she wrings her fingers together, “Nothing like anything I’ve ever had before.”

“Gaby,” He feels a pang of guilt but she shakes her head and clears her throat. 

“No, it’s perfect.” There’s a crack in her voice that strikes him harder than any bullet wound he’s ever had.

Illya reaches for her and she lets him. His hand curls on the bend in her elbow and she draws herself into his chest, burrows herself there in his dress shirt. He moves his other hand up and strokes along the crown of her hair and presses his palm along the back of her head, letting her bury her past in his embrace. Gaby’s fingers dig into his sweater and she finally turns her head up, “It’s the best thing I can call mine.”

Illya contemplates her words for a moment lips pressed tightly together before he gives in. He nods that golden head of his, letting her have her moment. She reaches up and presses her fingers to his cheek. The ring on her finger is cold along his skin. It’s a reminder that this little bit of jewelry is all they have when the KGB pulls on his leash and U.N.C.L.E. goes under in an inevitable collapse of power. Wars do not last forever, but it doesn’t stop Illya from wishing for a few years more.


	2. "Sidereal"

**(Sidereal: of or with respect to the distant stars (i.e., the constellations or fixed stars, not the sun or planets)**

It’s the middle of the night and when she reaches across the mattress, she’s greeted with the cold touch of the sheets. There’s no warm body beside her, no tall Russian curled around her with a possessive arm. Gaby’s fingers stretch out a little further, finding his pillow empty and untouched which makes her move now. She shifts against the covers and pulls herself awake, rubbing away the sleep in her eyes. The dark room comes into focus and the cold breeze from outside is unwelcome, drawing goosebumps along her skin. The windows to the terrace are wide open, the hotel balcony is lit only by a candle and she can see him sitting out there. Illya is hunched over a small leather book, pen scraping along the thin paper over and over as he draws out little lines she can barely begin to decipher when he clears his throat.

“You should not be up.” He whispers quietly turning his head over from the little book and glancing over her form. She’s wearing little to keep herself warm, a thin night gown and a pair of his socks too big for her scrawny legs. 

“I was cold.” She crosses her arms now, leaning in against the slope of his back, molding herself to him. He’s warm despite the cold air, his thick sweater smells wonderfully too, like warm leather and expensive cologne. 

“You will be colder out here,” Illya moves to close the book but she stops him, her fingers slipping over his arm and catching the pages. His handwriting is small and neat, precise little pen strokes run over the paper and she notices the names etched along each line.

“What are these?” She asks sleepily, leaning over his shoulder a little further, pushing up on the balls of her feet, standing with her cheek brushing his. She can feel the scrape of his stubble when he speaks, murmuring something of the stars.

“I am keeping track.” 

“Track of what?” 

“Stars,” He sighs softly, letting her linger on him. She slumps almost bonelessly against his back with her fingers tracing over the edge of his little notebook. 

“Why?” 

“Why do you ask so many questions?”

“Because I am very curious as to why you would rather be cold than warm in bed with me.” She smiles into his shoulder and he draws his arm back and around her waist, pulling her into his side now, propping her partially up against his thigh, drawing her back against his chest. 

His lips ghost the top of her crown, “We can be warm here.” 

“You still haven’t answered me.” Gaby turns her head up now, lips a mere breath away from his own.

“Sometimes, it is good to be reminded of how small we are.” His hand splays out over her stomach, fingers carefully drawing small circles over her night gown. Gaby pulls the book out of his hand and lays it open on the edge of the balcony wall, her hand covering his own as she reclines.

“They are beautiful.” She murmurs softly, head turning up to the ink colored sky. 

“Yes, yes you are.”


	3. "Lipstick"

**(Lipstick: a crayonlike oil-based cosmetic used in coloring the lips.)**

Without her expensive dress, she looks out of place all dolled up with makeup thick around her eyes and lashes. The red lipstick pressed over her lips doesn’t match her blue pajamas, but it does leave behind stains on the hotel crystal and against the collar of his expensive shirt. The smell of expensive whiskey lingers from Gaby’s lips and Illya has to take a moment, remind himself to breathe. Her free hand rests on his chest and the other holds the tumbler, knocking it back with a sloppy toss. Amber liquid dribbles out of the corner of her painted lips and splashes onto the front of his shirt. Her eyes lower to the spot and then her fingers trace it, thumb pressing over the wet dot just as she turns her head up, peering through thick lashes. He hasn’t taken his gaze off of her. He just keeps staring at the red color that matched the dress she wore just minutes ago.

Those red lips curve into a cat-like smile, “What are you staring at?” 

There’s an innocent tone in her low voice deliberately teasing him, unwinding the tension in his muscles. He blows out a soft huff through his nose, “I am staring at a very rude girl.” 

Illya’s lips tick up into a slight smirk and she scrunches her nose as her fingers walk up the front of his button up and over the collar of his shirt where she has stained the fabric with an impression of her lips.

“Me? Rude?” She tries for a bit of shock but it fades quickly into a laugh. Alcohol has flushed her cheeks and upped her courage as she slides her legs along his and leans in a bit further. His chess game is still on-going, her nose touches his and he forgets all about the checkmate when her fingers knock off his hat and his lips find hers.

She leaves behind a smear of lipstick against his bottom lip, a bitter taste that still coats the tip of his tongue when she falls asleep in the crook of his neck.


	4. "Music"

**_(Music: Music is an art form and cultural activity whose medium is sound and silence, which exist in time.)_ **

 

It only takes a twist of the radio dial and Illya’s lips twitch upwards. Gaby sways in front of the hotel radio, the volume turned louder as she twists the dial again and then he watches her move. The edge of her pajama top slides up when her hands go up over her head and cross for a moment. Her hips go back and forth for a moment, silk pajama pants riding low over her hips and he loses himself in the sight of her. His chess game is now forgotten, his fingers slip away from the King’s piece and he settles back into the overstuffed chair, legs stretching out, hands on the arms of the chair. His arms are too long for the furniture – Illya is always too big for the furniture but he never seems to complain. Gaby turns to face him and her hands fall down, pointing at him and then she curls her fingers in just to see him shake his head at her.

“Illya,” She uses his name to beg, a twist of a whine in her voice as she wiggles her fingers back and forth, crooking them in his direction. He turns his head up and she blows out a sigh, alcohol has warmed her belly and her steps are wobbly but she dances to him anyways. Her dancer’s legs climbing over the edge of the couch and stepping up onto the table. The tips of her toes touch the edge of the chessboard and when he makes a quiet sigh, she knocks it aside. The pieces spill over the edge of the table and scatter along the plush carpet, rolling under the table and furniture. She grins and he growls, low and dangerous.

“Gaby,” He grounds out the words as her cat-like grin widens.

“No.” She muses drawing a hand over her middle, pulling the edge of her shirt up to expose the line of her hip muscle that dips low into her pajamas. His cheeks burn along with the tops of his ears and he tries not to let it show but it’s too late. Her fingers fan out over her shirt and then she crooks her finger up, catching his attention.

“Spoilt.” His fingers twitch and she sways once more with the music. Oversized pajamas giving him hints of tawny skin and then before she can dance away from him, he moves to the edge of his chair like a predator in the wild, stalking, slow and deliberate. He doesn’t pounce just yet, simply lets her turn on the ball of her foot. Gaby keeps dancing to the slow bluesy beat that bleeds into the room from the old hotel radio. She hums along the words, off-key and deliberately making him focus his attention on her. A spare piece of his chess set rolls along the edge of the table and she carefully kicks it aside with the tip of her toes. Illya watches as the Queen rolls and tumbles free to the floor. He draws his gaze up from the fallen royal piece to his partner on the table, taking in the shape of her legs under the silky material of her pajamas and then to the strip of skin peeking up when she rolls her shoulders back. His throat constricts and he swallows hard, watching her muscles move in slow deliberate circles as she rotates her hips down.

Gaby turns to him, drunken smile and all as she reaches down, taps the edge of his hat once then twice. He turns his golden head up and she swats at his hat, knocking it off of his head, messing up his meticulous hairstyle. His hand stretches out and he pauses for a moment, index finger and thumb rubbing over the soft fabric of the night clothes. He strokes his fingers down and then pushes up the edge of her pant leg, wrapping his fingers around her small ankle. Gaby slows her dancing and Illya drags his fingers up the inside of her pajamas, tracing the slope of her calf just to see her lips part in a soft sigh. Her skin pricks with excitement and he traces over the goose flesh that breaks out over her soft skin, dragging his rough hand higher. He palms the back of her knee and then drags his other hand up. In one fatal movement he hooks both of his hands behind her knees and drags her into him. Gaby is the one that pounces now. Her knees pin to either side of him and her forehead crashes against his. For a moment all he can see is her dark eyes as his nose brushes along hers and her eyes flutter shut just as he draws a hand up from her knee and cups the side of her face. His fingers fan out and touch the edge of her hair, thumb pressing over her bottom

He pulls at her bottom lip gently and she parts her lips along his attention and her warm breath ghosts over the edge of his own and he pulls her in with one final tug. Illya kisses her like a starving man. Like he’s never kissed her before, even though they’ve been kissing for months now. Each time he kisses her like it’s going to be their last. Their world is a dangerous one and he has to take every piece of her while he can get her. The music from the radio is nothing but background static, he can barely hear it over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. Everything in the room goes still and she wraps her arms around his neck, buries her fingers in his golden hair and pulls at it gently, winding it around her fingers. He lets her cling to him and he lets his hand slip to the back of her neck and he kisses her until his lungs burn.

Gaby pulls away first and presses her forehead to his, bumping her nose against his own. She smirks and leans back in for another kiss but he pulls back from her, “Gaby,” He lets his fingers tangle in her hair, “You can not be reckless again.”

His accent hits hard on every word and she parts her lips to shout at him, to cut him down with her words but he cuts her off, presses his lips over hers to break the tension forming between them in the middle of Panama. His fingers along her knee slip up and he catches her cheeks in his palms, holds her steady before breaking the kiss.

“Next time you let me go with you.” She sighs softly, “Illya, I’m your partner.”

He swallows and she leans her cheek against his palm and rests her weight in his lap, “Gaby.”

“Illya, don’t argue with me.” Gaby turns her head in and presses her lips to the center of his calloused palm, years of holding guns and knives have made his hands rough and unkind, but he is nothing but gentle with her. He gives into her, slowly nodding to her words.

“I know, but,” He speaks softly to her.

“No.” Gaby is firm and nips at the edge of his wrist with her teeth, presses her lips over the leather strap of his father’s watch before dipping down and kissing his forearm gently where his sleeve is rolled up his arm. “I am an agent, I’ve been one for two years now. I am your partner.”

The song changes to something slow, agonizingly slow and he listens as she sighs softly, melting into the front of him. Slowly she slides her legs on either side of his own and he finds himself nodding against her words, he knows she’s capable but he can’t shake the urge to protect her. He pulls her in for one more kiss, final and deliberate. He’ll spend the rest of the night making up the mission to her. With what little time they have before the extraction he’ll spend giving up an apology he can only hope she’ll take.

They leave the radio on.


	5. Restless In Sleep

On one of the few nights she actually sleeps, it’s restless. She tosses and turns, kicking off the blankets and sheets. Her bare legs catch the moonlight as she rolls over in another fit. Her restless tossing and turning wakes him up. She scratches at the pillow, clutching it a little too tightly as if holding onto the last piece of herself before the weight of the iron curtain comes crashing down on her. A soft sound leaves her lips and Illya decides he cannot let her suffer any longer. He slips from his too-small bed in another hotel room, in another city, miles from home. 

Illya carefully moves in the darkness, settling himself on the edge of her bed. The mattress dips under his weight but, it doesn’t seem to wake Gaby. Instead she kicks out again and he carefully catches her leg, smoothing his thumb over the edge of her ankle, settling it back down – soothing her with a careful touch he doesn’t dare get away with in the day time. Gaby turns over, her hip pressing down into the mattress as her hair is snarled around her face. Even in the darkness, Illya finds himself staring a little too long, tracing the edges of her soft features, watching her lips purse as she fights off another nightmare. 

Without thinking, he reaches his hand up and sweeps her bangs back. There’s a thin layer of sweat over her brow and he gently wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. The purse of her lips fades and she leans in a little closer to him. He traces the slope of her cheek and she shifts again, his finger dips down the column of her throat and the tickling sensation wakes her. Her dark eyes blink open and slowly she focuses on him, sitting on the edge of her bed with the moonlight spilling around him, “Illya,” She breathes out his name and he pulls back – trying to vanish so she can chalk him up to nothing more than a dream.

Only he can’t escape, her little calloused hand finds his and she squeezes his fingers, “You can’t go.” 

“…And why not?” He asks, his voice low and thick with his native accent.

“I still need you to chase the nightmares away.”

**Author's Note:**

> These are in no particular order, but all prompts are answered in "established relationship" universe where these two are together and in some terms happy, others not so much. These will vary in size anywhere from 100 words and up! Thank you to everyone who continues to send me prompts and asks for these two. My ask box is always open and I will always write them as long as someone asks. Find me on tumblr: @colleenvving


End file.
